This Fate Could Have Been Avoided
by arineat
Summary: Harry goes on a bender and gets far more than he bargained for. Rather than the hangover he'd anticipated waking up to, he finds himself trapped in his own memories with no choice but to examine his regrets.


**Author's Notes**: A million thanks to Lexx and Cheryl for beta. Thanks also to Kimmy and Huey for encouragement and gratuitous hand-holding as I struggled to write this, my first proper fic in some months. Dear OP - This fic isn't as close to your prompt as I'd originally intended. Rather, I took the idea of Introspective!Harry and ran with it. I hope, despite the deviation, that you still enjoy the story.

* * *

><p>The pint glass hit the counter with a dull thud.<p>

"Another."

The barkeep arched a brow, but, spotting the small pile of coins on the scarred wood of the bar, said nothing and dutifully filled another glass. As he slid it into his customer's hand, he deftly collected the coins and pocketed them. It was a slow night; only a few customers had come and gone, but if this fellow kept up, he'd hardly be making a loss. Grabbing a mostly-clean cloth, the barkeep leaned his hip against the counter, picked up a glass and began polishing it, his eyes flicking casually to the man slumped against the bar.

"Looks like ye've had a rough nigh' o' it," he said as he picked up a new glass.

The man slowly looked up at him, his ruddy green, bloodshot eyes obviously struggling to focus on him. The barkeep had spent the better part of the night trying to figure out why this bloke looked so familiar, but for the life of him, he couldn't place it. And anyway, the way he looked at it, it wasn't any of his business. He was just there to serve the drinks. He watched as the man's bottom lip poked out and his frown deepened before he opened his mouth to answer.

"You can say tha' again. Bloody awful fuckin' day."

The barkeep hummed in commiseration, but before he could respond with words, the man continued.

"I mean, I'm doin' my best, innit? I'm working an' providin' an' tryin' to do what I'm s'posed t' and wha's she doin'? Tellin' me she wants more time? More time for what, I ask you? To have 'er mother send us a bunch of bloody Howlers for waitin' so long t' give her grandkids?" The man shuddered, as if horrified by the idea, and took what appeared to be a bracing gulp of his pint. "And then _he_ fuckin' goes an' says she doesn't want t' be with me. As if he knows something, the stupid bloody twatwaffle," he broke off for a moment to giggle. "Twatwaffle. 'S a brilliant word. Such pretty eyes, though."

The barkeep shook his head at the sudden look of drunken longing on the man's face, almost sorry that he'd bothered to ask. Then again, it wasn't like he wasn't used to people telling him their life stories. It was all part of the gig, really, and usually it meant his patrons stuck around and ordered more drinks. So he shrugged away his slight discomfort and offered the bloke his best sympathetic smile.

"Ah, well, ye'll sort it out, I'm sure. 'Til then, how's about another drink?"

The man blinked at him for a moment before finishing his old pint and pulling the new one to him, absently plonking another coin onto the bar as he dipped into the foam at the top. The barkeep smirked as the coin slid into his pocket with a delightful little _tink_ to mingle with its brothers. The night was turning out to be most profitable, indeed.

A burst of cold air blew through the tiny pub as the door opened and a group of men tramped in. Whistling merrily to himself, the barkeep moved to serve them, leaving his other bedraggled customer to fend for himself.

The barkeep returned to find that his drunken story-teller was no longer alone. A tall, thin blond man sat close by his side, a smile on his face and calculation in his golden eyes. Something about the way he looked at the other man didn't sit right with the barkeep. His customer either didn't notice or didn't care. He was in the middle of another barely-coherent rant, this time gesturing wildly with his hands.

Well, if his customer wasn't worried, then it wasn't really any of the barkeep's business, really. With that in mind, he returned to polishing glasses, keeping half an ear out just in case.

"...sounds absolutely dreadful," the newcomer drawled. The barkeep looked up as the blond snapped his fingers imperiously. "Barkeep, a glass of white wine for me and another pint for my friend here. And do make sure the glass you put the wine in is _clean_."

The barkeep glared, but held his tongue as the blond produced a galleon.

"Comin' right up," he grumbled, snatching the coin away. He pulled another pint and set about locating one of his few wine glasses. It was a bit dusty, but his handy rag took care of it.

"Here y'are. There be an'thin' else?"

"No," the blond replied, his lip curled with apparent distaste as he waved the barkeep away. "Leave us."

The barkeep gripped his rag tight and darted a quick look over at the other man, who offered a wobbly little wave and a smile. A sense of unease shot through him, but a call for more beer rose from the far corner of the pub and the barkeep was forced to shove it down. He pulled another round of beers, loaded his tray and, with one last glance over his shoulder, headed over to serve his other customers.

As he headed back to the bar, the barkeep was nearly attacked by the imperious sweep of the blond man's cloak as he headed out the door.

"Self-important, poncy git," the barkeep muttered to himself. At least the wanker was gone, at any rate. Clean glass, indeed.

When he got back behind the bar, he found his drunken customer swaying dangerously on his stool.

"Pretty bloke, isn' 'e? Too bad his eyes are brown instead o' grey..."

With that, the man sprawled across the bar and promptly passed out.

"Knew I should'a cut ye off," the barkeep muttered.

With a shake of his head and a tut, he moved to clear the empty pint and the wine – the git had barely touched it. The barkeep's hand brushed the man's as he pulled the glass away and his heart skipped a beat at the clammy-cold feel of the man's skin. Setting the glasses aside, he gripped the man's shoulder and gave him a slight shake.

"Oi, mate," he said, apprehension twisting a knot in his stomach. "Ye alrigh'?"

He shook the man harder, his eyes widening as the man lolled to the side and fell off the stool without so much as a whimper. He'd seen many men and women drink themselves to dropping, but he'd never seen anything like this. It didn't even look like the man was breathing. The barkeep's heart went cold at the thought and he hurried around to the other side of the bar, checking for a pulse with shaking hands. It was there; thready and weak, but definitely there.

"Help!" he shouted. "This man needs help!"

Silence fell in the tavern and there was a moment of stillness before someone finally moved. One of the men from the group headed for the fireplace as the other three moved to help the barkeep.

"What happened?"

"I dunno. Help me lift 'im."

"Calm down, mate. He's just pissed. Drunk himself into a state, that's all."

The barkeep turned and leveled the man with a condescending glare. "I've been mindin' this pub fer o'er thirty years, boy. I know th' damn difference 'tween someone being passed out drunk an' something bein' seriously wrong. This has nothin' t' do with havin' too much t' drink."

The man's brows rose and he lifted his hands in apparent surrender. "Whatever you say."

With a man on each side, they managed to move him to a booth, laying him across it as they waited for the mediwizards. As the man was settled onto the cushions, his head fell back and his fringe parted, exposing his forehead.

"Oh, fuckin' 'ell," the barkeep breathed as he caught sight of an infamous lighting-shaped scar.

The man lying near-dead on his threadbare and worn booth cushions was none other than Harry bleeding Potter.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>Look at your life, Potter. Look at your choices."<strong>_

* * *

><p>Harry blinked as he suddenly went from sitting drunk out of his mind in a tiny pub in Edinburgh to standing in a field completely stone-cold sober. He frowned as he regained his bearings and tried to remember exactly how he'd got there. He could remember the pub, an untold number of pints and - vaguely - the barkeep. A sharp pain rose behind his eyes as he struggled to remember more.<p>

A flash of blond. A full-lipped smile. The sparkle of honey-brown eyes as he tipped his pint back and drank deep.

_**"Look at your life."**_

Harry cursed himself as he shook his head to dispel the fragmented images.

"What the fuck?"

_"Harry!"_

Harry turned to see Ginny heading towards him with a smile and a wave. His brief moment of recognition and relief was overshadowed by confusion at seeing her there. He opened his mouth to reply, only to choke on his words as he heard another voice answer.

_"Ginny!"_

Harry whipped around just in time to see _himself_ jogging towards him in the opposite direction.

"What the...AH!"

Harry shouted in surprise and horror as his doppelganger walked straight through him to get to Ginny. Scrambling away, he turned, brandishing his wand.

"What. The. Fuck?" he demanded again.

Neither Ginny nor his impostor paid any attention to him. Instead they embraced each other and began to speak as if Harry wasn't even there.

_"Mum said you wanted to speak with me?"_

_"Yeah. Um. I did. I do! Here, you should sit."_

Harry stared in fascination at the exchange and the most intense feeling of deja-vu rolled over him as he watched the impostor Harry pull out his wand and conjure a small bench. He'd been here before. He'd _done_ this six months earlier. A quick second glance around had Harry realising that the vaguely familiar field he was standing in was actually the far corner of the Weasleys' back garden. Even from where he stood, he could see the red of Molly Weasley's hair curling out from behind a far tree as she waited for the chance to pop out and celebrate the expected occasion.

"Oh, sweet Merlin, I'm dead."

But wait, that couldn't be right. He'd been dead before. Dumbledore had been there, had spoken to him. They'd talked and interacted. No one in this place seemed to be able to hear or see him. Hell, he'd been _walked_ through as if he wasn't even there. In a way it reminded him of being in a Pensieve. The thought clicked as he listened to himself stammer about how good a friend Ginny was; a speech he'd worked on for nearly a week and still hadn't been able to deliver fluidly.

"It's a memory," Harry breathed. "But how...?"

A image flashed through his mind - the smirk of the blond at the pub as Harry finished his last pint.

_**"Look at your choices."**_

Harry didn't believe in coincidence. That smirk, those words, were the last thing he remembered before he waking in the field. Whatever this was, however he'd got here, that man had to have caused it. Somehow, he'd slipped under Harry's radar and forced him into his own memory, most likely with a potion or a spell. Harry took a minute to berate himself for letting his guard down. How many times had Hermione lectured him about being cautious, being vigilant, because 'even though the war was over, he was still Harry Potter: Public Enemy Number One to any and all Death Eaters still at large'? The past few years had seen plenty of attempts on Harry's life, but he'd managed to avoid them while rounding up most of the Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters that had slipped through the cracks.

Even so, he knew they couldn't have arrested them all. It was entirely possible that he'd fallen prey to one of those they'd missed, but it made no sense. If Harry was dealing with a Death Eater, why would he bother with trapping him like this? Why not simply poison or curse him and be done with it? And if torture was their game, then why bring him here? If he'd wanted to torment him, why, out of all the horror and pain in Harry's past, put him in the memory of his proposal to Ginny?

Frowning, Harry shook his head and straightened. He would worry about the how and why later. Right now he needed to focus on escape. He was hardly going to sit around and watch his life play itself out while his body lay Merlin-knew-where, prone and helpless. He had to get out. With a determined nod, Harry turned and marched away from the scene. He made it all the way to the tree-line at the far end of the field before he was winked back to the place where Memory!Harry and Ginny sat.

Clenching his jaw in frustration, Harry took off again, this time in the opposite direction. Once again, the moment he reached the indeterminable barrier, he was popped back to the start. He tried every possible direction, including up. His wand was useless; spells did not work at all. Apparation did nothing, nor did trying to use the Floo network inside the Burrow. Nothing worked. Each and every time he was brought back and the scene restarted itself. He was well and truly stuck.

After what had to be his thirtieth attempt, Harry finally gave up. He'd play whatever game he had to in order to get out of there. If this memory was anything like the ones that he had viewed in a Pensieve, all he had to do was wait for it to end. When it was over, he'd snap back to consciousness in his own body. Nothing to worry about. He refused to think about what would happen if it wasn't like being in a Pensieve.

His mind made up, Harry trudged back to the heart of the scene and settled in to watch.

_"You mean a lot to me. Uh, you're one of my best friends, you know? Being with you is easy and I think we make a... well, we make a good team."_

Harry winced at the awkward smile on Memory!Harry's face as he reached a shaking hand into his cloak pocket and pulled out the old velvet box housing Ginny's grandmother's wedding ring. He fought the urge to hide his face as he watched himself fumble with the lid and nearly drop it. Just watching this moment brought back the clutch of nerves around his heart and the waves of nausea he'd felt. Harry had never felt so awkward or unsure as he had in that moment and watching himself fall gracelessly to one knee only twisted the tightness in his chest.

_"Ginevra Molly...er...Ginny. Will you marry me?"_

There was a long moment of silence, oddly loud after his memory-self's barely-decipherable rush of words, and though he knew what her answer would be, Harry held his breath.

_"I... of course. Of course I will."_

Harry watched in fascination as, for the tiniest moment, something in his expression fell. When he blinked, the look was replaced with a broad grin as Memory!Harry moved to kiss Ginny. Seeing it forced Harry remember how in the moment she'd said 'yes' that tightness in his chest hadn't eased as he'd expected it to - it had clenched even tighter.

At the time he'd written it off as the onset of worry - the coming wedding would no doubt garner quite a lot of unwanted attention and publicity - but as he watched the Weasleys descend upon the couple with their congratulations, Harry couldn't help but wonder why his memory-self's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

As the excitement and celebrations began to quiet down and the memory came to an end, the scene finally began to fade. Just before the Weasleys melted out of sight, Harry caught the barest flash of something in Ginny's eyes.

Doubt.

* * *

><p>Draco sighed and sank deeper into his armchair as he brought the half-drunken tumbler of whiskey to his lips and sipped. He closed his eyes, relishing the smooth burn of the alcohol as it traveled down into his belly, warming him at his core. Usually, Draco ended his days with a glass of full-bodied red wine and a good book, but wine just wouldn't cut it on nights like these. It had been a long day, filled with headaches and general incompetency on the part of his fellow staff and then, to top it all off, he'd had a row with Potter. Again.<p>

Draco had been just about to leave the office when Potter had arrived, tense and irritable and looking ready to snap, a sure sign that he'd been fighting with the ginger shrew again. Really, he should have just left him to his little breakdown and gone home to his wine, but Draco had developed a sort of soft spot for his partner. More than a soft spot, really, and wasn't it just bloody typical that Draco would fall for Harry bloody Potter, resident hero and poster-boy for straight wizards everywhere?

There were times when Draco thought that maybe, just maybe, Potter wasn't as straight as he seemed. Sometimes Potter looked at him with such intensity, such emotion in his eyes, that Draco couldn't keep a traitorous sliver of hope from rising in him. Inevitably, though, his reason would squash it down again; typically the next time he saw Potter with his fiancee. Draco would convince himself that whatever he thought he'd seen in Potter's eyes had been imagined and spend the rest of his day silently berating himself for wanting more than the unlikely friendship the two of them had built up over the years.

Despite knowing that he hadn't a snowball's chance in Hell with Potter, Draco still took pleasure in hearing about the arguments he had with Weasley. It warmed the petty cockles of his heart to know that the couple wasn't nearly as picture-perfect as people liked to think. And so when Potter had shown up looking frazzled and needing to talk, Draco had settled himself in and asked him what was wrong.

The more Potter had talked, the more Draco's theories about the pending Potter-Weasley nuptials had seemed to go from "wishful thinking" to "quite accurate". Over the course of their engagement, whenever Potter had spoken to Draco of marrying Weasley, Potter had seemed anxious. Not the typical nerves one would expect from a man eagerly awaiting his wedding, but something much stronger. It was almost as if Potter dreaded the thought of following through. It was easy to dismiss the signs when Draco knew how badly he wished it to be true, but as Potter had talked about the nature of their argument, Draco had begun to think that perhaps it wasn't just Potter getting cold feet.

He should have known better than to suggest as much out loud.

So now Draco was in a foul mood, drinking his best whiskey and glaring into the fire like a brooding teenager. Bloody brilliant.

Draco had just finished the last of his tumbler when a loud tapping brought his gaze from the flames to the bedroom window. With a frown bordering on a pout, he rose from his chair and retrieved the letter. There was no writing on the outside - no address or sender even hinted at - and when he opened it, all he found was a short, neatly-written note.

_St Mungo's. _

_P.S. You really ought to teach your partner not to accept drinks from strangers._

Draco felt the blood drain from his face as his heart stuttered in his chest. Potter was hurt. In the hospital. Someone had hurt him. Someone had _poisoned _him. Draco's initial shock gave way to an unexpected wave of fury. Someone had poisoned _his_ partner. _His_ Harry. His hands clenched violently around the tiny square of parchment, wrinkling it beyond recognition, as if he could somehow hurt Potter's attacker by destroying it.

Reason kicked in a moment later and he held back, knowing that this note was his only lead. A false sense of calm settled over Draco as he carefully loosened his grip on the note. He smoothed out the creases methodically before he folded the parchment and slid it into his pocket. First, he would go to St Mungo's and check on Harry. Once he was sure that he was stable and safe, Draco would analyse the parchment and use it to track down whatever fool had thought it would be a good idea not only to attack his partner, but to taunt him with it. And when he found them, Draco would make them pay.

* * *

><p><em>"You what?"<em>

_"I asked Ginny to marry me."_

Harry started as he all but fell into his next memory. He was in his office - well, his and Malfoy's office - and it appeared he'd just broken the news of his and Ginny's engagement.

_"You asked her...seriously?"_ Malfoy' lips curled into a smirk, though this one was different from his usual teasing ones. This one was sharper, more ruthless and almost bitter. Harry could see his memory-self's hackles rise at the mere sight of it.

_"Yes, I did. I'm not sure why you're so surprised. Everyone else expected it."_

_"I suppose they did,"_ Malfoy muttered quietly. _i"But surely you know by now, Potter, that _I_ am not 'everyone else'."_

Harry swallowed as his heart did a little flip in his chest. The look in Malfoy's eyes held him transfixed; open and vulnerable while still managing to hide behind a shield of obvious innuendo. Memory!Harry didn't even seem to register it, but this argument had happened months ago and Harry had learned to read Malfoy's expressions - however slight - since then..

_"Right, well, what is it you thought was going to happen?"_ Memory!Harry asked, crossing his arms and glaring defensively.

_"Honestly? I thought you'd date for while before realising that you and Weasley have never suited one another and then you'd break up. I guess I was wrong in thinking you'd outgrown that ridiculous need to please everyone."_

Harry's gaze flicked away from Malfoy just in time to see himself gaping at him like a fish.

_"This has nothing to do with pleasing anyone but myself. I love Ginny."_

_"Oh, really?" _Draco drawled, the sound of it drawing Harry's gaze once more. _"So you're going to tell me that this has nothing to do with the expectations of your little surrogate family and friends? You really expect me to believe that this has nothing to do with Molly Weasley showing up here two and three times a week to check on you, make sure you're doing well, and drop not-so-subtle comments about 'not waiting too long to become a member of the family'? Or that the Weasel's never-ending chatter about his wedded bliss with Granger and how he 'can't wait for you to marry Ginny so you can swap stories over a pint and finally be real brothers' doesn't factor in? And surely pleasing the she-weasel by marrying her and finally giving her that well-earned status of being the wife of one of the richest and most high-profile men in wizarding Britain hasn't occurred to you at all. No, of course not. It's all about 'pleasing yourself'. What a load of bollocks."_

Harry couldn't tear his gaze away, not even when he heard himself speak.

_"Who do you thin__k you are__?" _The question was low and dangerous, the words shaking with barely-suppressed rage. _"You think that because we work together, that we_ happened_ to get assigned as partners means that you know me? You don't know anything about me, or my life, or Ginny. You're not my friend, Malfoy. You're my co-worker. You don't know _anything."

Harry felt something twist inside of him, painful and vicious, as Malfoy's face went from openly mocking and vulnerable to obviously hurt to utterly blank. The silence in the room grew, taking up every inch of space, filling every crack until Harry thought he would burst from the sheer pressure of it.

_"We're not friends, huh?"_ Malfoy's voice was brittle, each word sharp as a razor's edge. _"Well, I suppose that was my mistake."_

Harry glanced over at his memory-self and watched his own face pale in contrition. His mouth opened as if to speak, but Malfoy cut him off as he rose and moved to stand before him, barely leaving an inch of space between them.

_"I may just be a _'lowly co-worker'_ to you,"_ he began, his voice quietly intense, "_but I know you, Potter. Maybe even bette than you know yourself."_

They stood there a moment longer, eyes locked and tension crackling between them. Harry held his breath as he watched his gaze flick down to rest on Malfoy's lips, his tongue sweeping out to wet his own as he swayed forward ever so slightly. The movement seemed to break whatever trance had held Malfoy captive and he jerked back with a sneer. Without another word, he swept from the room, leaving Harry to watch himself try to relearn how to breathe.

Harry let out a sigh and dragged his fingers through his hair, his mind caught on the look in Malfoy's eyes - that split-second of unshielded hurt - as he'd said they weren't friends. He hadn't meant it, of course, he'd just been so angry at the time, but that hadn't excused it. Harry remembered tracking him down later that day and apologising, but he'd never quite forgotten or got over the guilt that he'd said it in the first place.

As the scene shifted and began to melt away, Harry found himself hoping that Draco didn't still think of this moment.

* * *

><p>"You stupid, trusting bastard."<p>

Draco stood at Harry's bedside, quietly berating him as a healer performed diagnostic spells. She made a noise that sounded something like agreement and Draco's initial opinion of her - and her inability to give him any solid answers - rose just a tiny bit.

"Anything?"

"I'm afraid not. Whoever poisoned him did a good job of covering their tracks. They laced the potion with Eradication Elixir. It mixes with, and eliminates, all traces of the original potion, which means..."

"There's no way to tell what potion was used," Draco finished grimly, earning a nod of approval from the healer. "Fuck."

"You may say that again," she muttered, shaking her head. "If nothing else, at least he's stable. His vitals are steady and his brain waves are strong. So strong, in fact, he appears to be dreaming."

Draco frowned. "Dreaming? What, nightmares?"

Perhaps Harry's attacker hadn't meant to kill him, after all. Perhaps they'd preferred to torture him. Draco's subconscious was filled with horrors and pain, mental scars left from the war. He could only imagine what Harry'd had to deal with. It would be the perfect prison to trap him in.

"Not nightmares," the healer said, pulling up a magical visualization of what Draco assumed was Harry's brain activity. "See here? The activity isn't strong enough for that. In a nightmare, the magic would spike much higher. Instead, it's maintaining a steady rhythm. He's dreaming like any healthy sleeping person. We just haven't been able to figure out why he won't wake."

Maybe it was like one of those fairy tales his mother had read to him as a child. Maybe he had to kiss Harry to wake him up. Draco started, looking away from Harry's lips as a soft chuckle met his ears and he blushed when he realised he must have voiced his thoughts aloud.

"If you think that will help, you're more than welcome to try."

Draco felt himself flush under the knowing gaze of the healer and straightened, trying his best to look more professional and less like an idiot who let his mouth run away with him.

"Don't be ridiculous. If anyone is going to kiss him, it should be his fiancee. Speaking of, have you contacted her?"

The healer gave him a look that clearly said she knew just how full of shit he was, but mercifully said nothing as she picked up Harry's chart and scanned it.

"Ms Weasley was here earlier to fill out some forms, but she left shortly after."

Draco sneered at the information. Some fiancee she was, leaving him there like that. If Harry were his... Draco shook his head. It was hardly the time for that sort of thinking. He had a suspect to hunt down.

"Who brought him in?"

"A Mr Edgar J Witherspoon," she said, shuffling through the parchment. "He spoke briefly to the Auror who was here before you."

Draco had got the few haphazard notes from Reilly all right, but there wasn't much he could do with them. The words were barely legible and he hadn't even thought to take down the witnesses' personal details. The man was an incompetent fool, barely capable of tying his own shoes let alone investigating something like this and Draco had said as much when he'd relieved him.

"Do you have an address where I might find him?"

The healer, at least, was more competent than Reilly. Draco scribbled down Witherspoon's contact details, said a quick goodbye to Harry and hurried out the door to the hospital's public Floo.

d-d-d-d-d-d

"I did me best t' look after 'im, so I did, but then tha' blond bloke showed up an' started makin' eyes at 'im an' insulting me establishment. 'E had the gall t' say me pub wasn't clean enough!" Witherspoon waved his soiled rag in Draco's direction and Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"Let's just try to stick to the relevant information, shall we? This man, can you tell me what he looked like?"

Witherspoon's face scrunched up thoughtfully as he turned the glass he was polishing over in his hands.

"Well, a bit like yerself, I s'pose."

Draco blinked. "Like me?"

"Aye. Tall, blond, poncy hair an' pale as ever. Almost as pale as a vampire or summat."

Draco's quill scribbled the details into a tiny, leather-bound notebook as he tried to think of anyone he knew fitting that description. Then again, it was most likely someone was hiding behind a glamour or Polyjuice. A physical description rarely did much good in a wizarding investigation, but something was better than nothing. What he wouldn't do for some physical evidence. Draco froze as his mind caught on that idea. It was a long shot, but...

"What about the glass he used? You said he had some wine. I don't suppose you happened to save it?"

"Matter o' fact, I did."

Draco's brows rose in surprised as Witherspoon bent down and retrieved a wine glass still filled nearly to the top and an empty pint. Both were wrapped in a warding spell Draco recognized as one taught as part of the standard Auror training procedure.

"Had a nephew was an Auror, didn't I?" Witherspoon said with obvious pride. "Picked up a few things for meself."

"Why didn't you give them to the other Auror?"

"'e didn't ask."

Shaking his head to clear the shock, Draco withdrew his wand and carefully began unwrapping the warding spell. A quick inspection of the glasses showed that Witherspoon had managed to perform the spell without a hitch. A space had been left between the ward and the glasses, perfectly preserving the magical signatures clinging to them without tainting them.

"Edgar, I could kiss you."

"I'll thank ye not t'," Witherspoon replied, holding his rag a bit higher as though Draco might hop over the bar and ravish him then and there.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned back to the matter at hand. He focused his mind and cast a Detection Charm over the glasses. Harry's magical signature covered the pint, familiar and warm, and there along the stem of the wine glass, just barely discernible, was the second signature. Draco's jaw dropped and he cast the spell again, certain that he'd somehow made a mistake. He hadn't. The signature shone weak but clear on the smudged surface of the glass. A signature Draco knew as well as his own.

"Pansy," he practically growled.

"Wait, now, who're ye callin' a pansy? Ye're the one doin' all the talk 'bout kissin'."

Draco ignored Witherspoon's indignant outburst as he re-warded and shrank the glasses. He pocketed them carefully and finally cut across Witherspoon's ranting.

"Thank you for your help, Mr Witherspoon," Draco said, effectively silencing him. "You've been a marvelous help in this investigation and in the protection of one of the Ministry's finest. I'll be sure to tell Auror Potter of your involvement when he recovers. I'm sure he'll want to thank you personally."

Witherspoon's eyes widened comically, a grin spreading over his face, presumably at the prospect of meeting the famous Harry Potter.

"Well, tha'd be brilliant, so it would. An' you tell Mr Potter he's welcome in me pub any time. Drinks on th' house!"

Draco barely registered the request as he stalked out the door and down the alley beside the pub. Without a single glance to check for onlookers, he Disapparated and reappeared on the front steps of Parkinson Place, anger and confusion coursing through him. Why would Pansy poison Potter? He'd thought they were all past the schoolyard hatred, not to mention that Pansy thoroughly adored her gilded socialite life. Why would she jeopardize that?

The door opened just as Draco reached for the knocker and a house-elf appeared, bowing low.

"Welcome, Master Draco. Mistress Pansy is expecting you. She is being in the Rose Room."

Draco afforded the creature a single curt nod as he swept into the manor and down the marble corridor. He stormed into the Rose Room - aptly named for the pink and gold decor as well as the ever-present scent of roses - and fairly slammed the door behind him. His anger bubbled over as he caught sight of Pansy sitting calmly on the settee, sipping daintily from fine bone China.

"Tell me what you did to Harry or so help me Salazar, I will arrest you here and now."

"Good afternoon, Draco," Pansy greeted smoothly, an amused smirk on her face. "Tea?"

* * *

><p><em>"To catching baddies and being generally bloody fantastic!"<em>

There was a rough _clink_ as Memory!Harry smashed his shot glass into Malfoy's, sloshing alcohol over the rim and onto long, pale fingers. Rather than complain, Malfoy let out a sound of approval and tipped his own shot back. They finished together, each slamming their empty glasses on the table with gusto. Malfoy's nose wrinkled as Memory!Harry let out a rather loud belch, but said nothing. That alone spoke volumes about how pissed he was.

Harry frowned as he took in the interior of the pub and tried to place the memory he was in. It was vaguely familiar, but in a fuzzy sort of way. Then again, he reasoned as he watched himself down another shot, if he'd been as drunk as his memory-self looked, it made sense that this memory was hard to recall on his own. If he was remembering correctly, this had happened two months ago, the night they'd caught Higgins, the notorious illegal potions dealer they'd been tracking for almost a year. It had only been a couple of months since their fight about Harry's engagement, but their investigation and the long hours they'd had to put in together had settled things between them and they were closer than ever.

_"We were amazin'. Brilliant. _'Specially _you, Malfoy. Jus'_ wow. _The way you cornered 'im with that Trapping Spell? That isn't even out of testin' stages, but you did it! Bloody impressive, you are."_

Malfoy preened under the attention, the light, ruddy pink of his cheeks darkening at Harry's praise.

_"What can I say, Potter? I'm a genius. It's about time you recognized my undeniable perfection."_

"_Jus' because I never said it out loud, doesn't mean I've not noticed,"_ Memory!Harry replied with the sudden earnest seriousness only the very young and the very drunk possess. He grinned a moment later, mood changing in the blink of an eye. _"How 'bout me, huh? I did pretty damn good, too, right? Found that bastard's hide-out an' e'erythin'."_

Malfoy's surprised expression melted away to one of exasperated fondness.

_"Yes, yes. Harry Potter, the ultimate finder of baddies."_

_"You're damn right! Another round!"_

They drank a bit more, sinking enough shots to have Memory!Harry leaning bodily against Malfoy, giggling like an idiot every few minutes. Harry felt something in his chest stutter at the easy way Malfoy's and his bodies fell together. They didn't look like partners, or even friends. They looked like lovers. Especially when his memory-self smiled and buried his face in the crook of Malfoy's neck like that.

Harry tensed, expecting a rebuke from Malfoy, but all he did was smile and lean into Harry's impromptu cuddle as if there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered as realisation swept over him. "Malfoy wants me."

It wasn't really as big of a revelation as it seemed. Harry had always thought there was something more between them besides friendship, but he'd carefully avoided any and all thoughts that had even hinted at it. He was engaged and before that, he'd had a girlfriend he'd loved. There had been no reason to entertain thoughts of Malfoy and any possible feelings he might have harboured. All that would have done was make things more difficult. So Harry had avoided it until it had become unavoidable.

_"We should do this more often."_

_"I rather think your fiancee would have something to say about that," _Malfoy replied with a snort.

Memory!Harry pulled away, his nose wrinkling in disapproval.

_"Must you use that word? It makes me sound all... old or something."_

Malfoy's brow rose. _"But that's what she is. And soon she'll be your wife."_

Harry didn't miss the subtle way Malfoy's voice caught on the word, as if it both hurt and disgusted him to say it.

_"Ugh,"_ Memory!Harry shuddered. _"Don't remind me."_

_"I thought you _wanted _to marry Weasley."_

Harry watched himself shake his head and then blink in confusion. _"I..well, I mean, sure I do. It's just... it's so soon. I'm too young to get married. It's too soon, right? But it's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it?"_

_"You should do what makes you happy,"_ Malfoy replied quietly, his expression as earnest at Harry had ever seen it.

_"This makes me happy."_

A look so raw and full of obvious longing stole over Malfoy's face, it stole Harry's breath away. It amazed him that Malfoy could look that way about anyone, let alone him. Even more amazing was the answering ache in his chest as he watched himself hiccup and sway, utterly oblivious to the rare glimpse of honesty Malfoy was granting him.

"_But, then, I can hardly be pissed all the time, right?_" Memory!Harry asked, leaning closer once again to pat Malfoy on the arm. _"Ginny would kill me."_

Malfoy's face fell. _"Right. Of course. Well, we wouldn't want that. In fact, why don't we call it a night?"_

Harry blinked in surprise at the size of his pout when Malfoy suggested they leave.

_"What? No. Why?"_

_"Because you just said yourself that_ your fiancee w_ouldn't like it. Besides, the pub is closing."_

Memory!Harry's frown deepened as he grudgingly glanced around to see that the pub was, indeed, shutting down for the night.

_"Fine. 'Spose you're right. How are you gettin' home?" _

_"I was going to Apparate,"_ Malfoy said as he moved to stand and promptly toppled back into the booth.

_"No way, Malfoy. You're much too pretty to Splinch,"_ his memory-self protested as he levered himself up and out of his seat, oblivious to Malfoy's sudden disbelieving stare. Harry presumed it had something to do with the fact that he'd just called him 'pretty'.

_"C'mon, I'll Floo home with you. Make sure you get there in one piece."_

He swayed forward, grabbed one of Malfoy's hands and pulled him to stand, nearly tipping them over as he did so. Once they regained some sort of equilibrium, Memory!Harry wrapped Malfoy's arm around his shoulders, snaked his own arm around Malfoy's waist, and led them in a weaving line to the fireplace at the far end of the pub.

Harry gasped as the room spun and he found himself standing Malfoy's sitting room. He oriented himself just in time to see Memory!Harry step through the fire with Malfoy in tow. They staggered across the hearth and nearly tumbled over, grasping at each other and giggling as they managed, just barely, to keep themselves upright.

Harry's breath caught as he watched them straighten and saw just how close they were standing. Malfoy's arms were slung tightly around Memory!Harry's neck as Harry's arms wrapped around his back, holding him tightly enough that there wasn't an inch of space between their giggling slowly died away and a sudden tension-filled awareness fell as they both seemed to realise their positions.

"_Harry_," Malfoy breathed. Not a second later, he swayed forward and brushed his lips gently against Memory!Harry's.

Harry's heart pounded wildly in his chest and he watched intently as Memory!Harry's fingers curled into Malfoy's cloak, pulling him closer for a split second before letting go and falling away.

_"Stay."_

The sheer amount of want in that single word sent a shiver through Harry even as it prompted Memory!Harry to step back.

_"I can't... I..."_ Surprise and something like panic were etched on his face, all signs of inebriation gone as he began to back towards the fireplace._ "I have to go. Ginny..."_

As he watched himself turn and fumble with the ornate China pot that housed the Floo Powder, Harry found himself wishing his memory-self would stay. That he'd suddenly drop the powder, say _fuck it _and fling himself into Malfoy's arms for another searing kiss. But he knew he wouldn't, because it hadn't happened that way.

Finally, Memory!Harry managed to grab enough Powder. He threw it into the flames and stepped in, meeting Malfoy's eyes once more before he disappeared. Harry had no choice but to follow, the disappointment in Malfoy's eyes etched into his mind as his lips tingled with the phantom-memory of his kiss.

* * *

><p>"Fuck your tea, Pansy. What did you do to him?" Draco demanded, pulling out his wand and pointing it at her<p>

"Do calm yourself, Draco. And put that away. We both know you'll never use it."

"Calm myself? Harry is in St Mungo's because of you. Don't try to deny it, I have your magical signature all over the glass of wine from the pub."

Pansy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "That wine was the worst sort of swill. But I suppose that's what you get when you order from such a plebeian establishment."

"Pansy."

"Fine, fine," Pansy said with a tut and a roll of her eyes. "Come sit and have some tea and I will tell you all about it."

Draco snorted as he slipped his wand back into its holster. "As if I'd be stupid enough to drink anything you gave me right now."

Pansy pouted and fluttered her lashes. "Come now, you know I'd never do something like that to you."

"Fourth year. Love potion in my pumpkin juice," Draco deadpanned.

"I was misguided and madly in love. You could hardly blame me for trying."

Draco rolled his eyes, sinking back into the settee as their familiar banter took the edge off his anger. Pansy was his closest friend. He knew her better than anyone, but still, he couldn't figure out why she'd want to hurt Harry. What little humour he'd felt at their exchange melted away and left only confusion and the need for answers.

"What did you slip him, Pansy?"

"Nothing so sinister as you might imagine. Just a hefty does of Lamentation Liquid laced with a bit of your hair."

Draco's jaw clenched as he fought not to lash out at her. "Okay, I'm going to, for the moment, ignore the fact that you violated my trust and used parts of me for a potion you had no business brewing, and instead focus on why you did it."

"I did it because I want you to be happy," Pansy said simply.

"How does putting Harry Potter in an introspective coma translate to my being happy?"

Pansy gave him a smile that bordered on pitying. "You're both so ridiculously blind. Surely you don't think I've missed the way you look at each other? Or the way you talk about him, even if you're complaining? You're in love with him, Draco."

"I'm not..." his denial caught in his throat at sharp arch of her brow. Who was he kidding? This was Pansy. She knew him just every bit as well as he knew her. Lying was pointless. "Fine. So what if I am? That hardly explains why you thought attacking him would help."

"Because he's a willfully ignorant prat, that's why. He's marrying a woman he doesn't love and who doesn't love him simply because it's what he thinks he _should_ be doing. If he pulled his head out and started doing what he _actually_ wanted, he'd have dumped her ages ago and jumped you, instead."

"How do you know Weasley doesn't love him?" Draco interrupted, his attention caught by the matter-of-fact way she'd said it.

"Women's intuition, darling," she replied vaguely. "Potter needs someone, or something, to help him acknowledge what he refuses to. The Lamentation Liquid will make him face all of his recent regrets regarding you and, if my observations are correct – and they always are – he'll wake up realising that he's in love with you and making a huge mistake by marrying Weasley."

Draco did his best to ignore the way his heart leapt in his chest, determined not to get his hopes up. "You don't know for sure that it'll work. He may wake up and all he'll have realised is that someone drugged him and needs to pay."

"It will work," Pansy replied with confidence. "And if, for some reason, it doesn't, I trust you to take care of him and make sure he doesn't try to lock me up."

"It's flattering to know you think I have that much sway over him," Draco said with a snort.

"I'm not worried. Now, drink your tea before it gets cold."

Draco took the cup she offered and took a bracing sip as he thought about what he'd learned. There was no way to know how this would end. If the potion did what it was meant to, Harry would be forced to relive his regrets, but that didn't necessarily mean he'd have a change of heart. It was entirely possible he'd wake feeling violated and furious at having been forced to look at things he didn't want to acknowledge. Then again, he might not. He might... Draco shook his head, refusing to go down that road. All that mattered was that Harry wake unharmed.

"You're certain you prepared the potion properly?"

Pansy stared at him with the bitchiest look in her arsenal.

"Right. Sorry. Fine. When will he wake?"

"When the potion has run its course and he's relived all the memories," she said with a shrug. "At this point, it's just a matter of waiting.

Draco sighed. He hated waiting.

* * *

><p>"<em>You're so jumpy tonight. Is something wrong<em>?"

Harry watched himself shake his head in denial, but Ginny was right. Something was wrong. And that something was currently sweeping through the ballroom arm-in-arm with what had to be one of the sexiest wizards Harry had ever seen in his life. Malfoy preened under the attention he and his date received as they moved among the throng. Even now, standing outside himself, Harry could feel a wild surge of jealousy as he watched the unnamed man slide an all-too possessive hand lower on Draco's back and led him onto the dance floor.

A month had passed, at this point - Harry spared a moment to be grateful that at least his memories were moving closer to present day - from their drunken celebration and Malfoy's kiss to the more recent present. A month of pretending like nothing had changed between them. He'd done all he could to ignore the proverbial elephant between them and Malfoy had let him, only occasionally letting comments slip like breadcrumbs that Harry had refused to take. His memory-self was staring openly and looking ready to break out his wand.

"_Harry? Harry, have you been listening to a word I'm saying?"_

Memory!Harry blinked and tore his gaze away long enough to answer. "_Sorry, what?"_

_"I was just wondering if you were planning on asking me to dance." _

Harry felt a flash of shame as he noted Ginny's disappointed expression. She looked forward to the Ministry Gala every year, delighting in the opportunity to mix with the Ministry's finest as well as cater to her femininity in a way that Quidditch so seldom allowed. She looked stunning in her sparkling green gown and her hair twisted into an intricate up do, but Harry's memory-self had barely looked at her the entire night since Malfoy had made his appearance.

_"Dance. Right, of course. Brilliant idea,"_ Memory!Harry replied, sweeping her into his arms and leading a less-than graceful waltz.

It was obvious from the way his eyes wandered that his heart wasn't in it. He was too busy watching Malfoy and his date have what, in his mind, amounted to clothed, vertical sex.

_"Honestly, this is hardly the place for that sort of behaviour," _he heard himself fairly growl.

Ginny's eyes followed his line of sight, landing on the couple just in time to see Mr Sexy Date groping at Malfoy's arse. She rolled her eyes and smiled. "_Oh, lighten up, Harry. No one cares. Besides, it looks like Malfoy's rather enjoying himself."_

Memory!Harry's lips tightened in a thin line, anger written in every line of his body. Harry had the sudden urge to slap himself for his lack of subtlety and tact. He watched as Ginny's gaze went from Malfoy to his memory-self and back again, understanding dawning in her eyes. _"You're acting almost as if you're jealous."_

That certainly got Memory!Harry's attention. His head whipped back and he immediately began to deny it. _"Of course I'm not... How could you even... It's just... It's indecent."_

_"It's not as if they're _in flagrante delicto_, Harry. And as far as I can tell, you're the only one making a fuss over it." _

Harry found it interesting that there was no anger or resentment in her tone; only a sort of probing curiosity.

"_I'm not making a fuss, I was just saying_."

Ginny's mouth twisted into a wry, disbelieving sort of grin. "_Right. Well, you go ahead and 'just say'. I'm going to get a drink."_

With that, she veered off and made for the refreshments table at the far end of the hall, leaving Harry to sulk at the edge of the dance floor. Finally, the song ended and Malfoy led his date away, passing Harry as he went.

"_This is a work function, Malfoy. You'd do well to remember that and keep things a little more professional_."

Malfoy turned and regarded him with a raised brow and a smirk. _"I didn't realise they'd assigned you to monitor the appropriateness of guests, Potter. Will you be issuing me a citation or will you let me off with a warning this time?"_

Harry watched his hands curl into fists, his cheeks brightening in frustration. _"I'd just prefer it if you waited to fuck him until after you left."_

Malfoy's smirk sharpened as his date left under the guise of needing a drink. _"If that's what you call fucking, it's no wonder you're so tense all the time. I hardly see how it's any of your business, either way."_

"_It's my business when you're carrying on like that in front of me_."

_"Fine. In future, I'll do my best to remember to cater your delicate nature," _Malfoy said with a scoff as he turned to leave.

_"You _kissed _me," _Memory!Harry hissed, grabbing Malfoy's arm and tugging him back.

_"Yes," _Malfoy replied, the slight irritation in his eyes flaring to something far more intense. "_I did kiss you. If you recall, I also asked you to stay, which you declined."_

"_I couldn't... Ginny..._"

_"Yes. Ginny," _Malfoy interjected. "_And where is Ginny now, hm? Where is your precious fiancee while you stand here and lecture an unattached man on how he behaves with his equally unattached date?"_

Harry watched himself swallow, his eyes darting to where Ginny stood, now seemingly immersed in a conversation with Malfoy's date._"I just... you..."_

Malfoy's expression softened as he watched Memory!Harry falter, the words sticking in his throat. He stepped closer a moment later, the look in his eyes making Harry's heart race.

_"I would leave Gerard here and take you home with me right now if you would just admit that that's what you want."_

Memory!Harry's eyes widened, denial warring with desire, until he finally croaked out, "_I... I don't."_

It was one of the biggest lies Harry had ever told. He wanted Malfoy in a way that, at the time, he'd refused to let himself acknowledge. Now, watching from the outside, it was impossible to ignore. He wanted Malfoy. And not just for a one off, no, he didn't think once would satisfy the overwhelming longing he felt. He wanted him for as long and as often as he could get him.

Harry cared about Malfoy in a way that no one with a fiancee they loved should.

Fuck.

"_I didn't think so." _With a bitter smile and a nod, Malfoy backed away. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull him back and kiss him, but he couldn't. This was a memory. He couldn't change it. What a bloody awful time for an epiphany.

Memory!Harry stayed just long enough to watch Malfoy's date slide a hand around his waist and then he was gone, storming from the ballroom without a word to anyone. As he neared the entrance hall, a high-pitched laugh met his ears, followed closely by a low, rumbling chuckle. Harry looked toward the sound as the scene began to fade, just barely managing to catch sight of Pansy Parkinson canoodling in the corner with the blond man from the pub.

* * *

><p>"<em><strong>I want you to look at your life, Potter. Look at your choices."<strong>_

* * *

><p>Harry woke with a groan, shifting against the sheets as he struggled towards consciousness. Wait. Sheets. His eyes flew open and he immediately shut them again with a curse as bright light, sharp and real, pierced his eyes.<p>

"Easy, Harry," came a soothing voice. Ginny's.

Slowly, Harry blinked his eyes open, letting them adjust to the light before he turned to focus on her. After being stuck for who knew how long in the fuzzy world of memories, the world seemed intensely sharp and clear. It was more than a little off-putting. Then again, some of that could be chalked up to his newly-uncovered personal revelations.

"Hey," he croaked, his voice scratchy and dry.

Ginny winced and held a beaker of water up to his lips. He drank it down in large gulps, finishing it off in mere moments.

"Sorry," she said as she refilled the cup and handed it to him. "Dry mouth is a side-effect of the potion."

Harry paused, staring at her over the rim of the cup. "Potion?"

Ginny nodded, a hesitant look on her face. "How much do you remember?"

Harry frowned in thought. "I remember you and I fought. I ended up at the pub and had quite a bit to drink. It gets sort of fuzzy from there, but a man... There was a man who spoke to me. He bought me a drink. The last thing I remember of that was him telling me to look at my life and my choices. Then everything went black and when I woke up, I was in a memory. What happened?"

"Lamentation Liquid," she answered. "Pansy slipped it into your drink at the pub."

"Pansy? Wait, Parkinson?" Harry asked, his frown deepening. "No, that's not right. I'd have remembered if Parkinson was there. Hell, I'd have got the fuck out of there."

"Which is why she was Polyjuiced as her toyboy of the month, Pierre."

"I thought he looked familiar," Harry murmured. "You knew about this?"

"I brewed the potion," Ginny admitted, looking at least a little apologetic.

"Why?"

"I was hoping you would have figured that out by now," she answered as she slipped her engagement ring off her finger.

Harry blinked as all the little pieces began to slot together; Ginny's hesitation and doubt when she'd said yes, her surprising lack of anger at Harry's jealousy at the Ministry Gala as she'd seen him arguing with Malfoy. The way she'd suggested, not for the first time, that they push back the date of the wedding; their last argument the night Harry had got pissed and ended up in this mess.

"You don't want to get married."

Ginny gave him a sad smile and shook her head.

"Don't you think you could have simply _told_ me that instead of going to the trouble of brewing a potion and drugging me?"

"I tried to, Harry," she insisted. "Merlin knows I tried, but I couldn't stand the thought of hurting you. So I kept quiet and kept asking you to move the date back. But then, I realised you have feelings for Malfoy."

"Wait," Harry interjected. "Who said I have feelings for Malfoy?"

Ginny gave him an unimpressed look. "You remembered his birthday. You don't remember _anyone's_ birthday."

Harry pouted. "I could have looked at a calendar."

"But you didn't. I wasn't absolutely sure until the Gala. Bloody hell, Harry, I've never seen you get that passionate about anything. Not ever. You weren't even subtle about it."

A familiar stab of shame washed through him, just as it had in his memory. "Ginny, I'm sorry..."

"Hush," she said softly, holding up a hand to forestall his apologies. "It's fine. Better than fine, it's what I wanted; for us not to get married and for you to be happy."

"I still don't see why you felt the need to drug me."

"Please," Ginny said with a snort. "If we hadn't drugged you, you'd still be here five years later wrestling with your feelings and swimming in denial. Trust me, it's better this way."

"Is it?" Harry countered, suddenly feeling vulnerable and unsure. "I'm not going to lie and say I don't care about him, but what makes you think he feels the same? I mean, I rejected him at the Gala. He might have changed his mind. How do you know it's not just going to ruin our friendship and make work an awkward, horrible thing?"

"Why do you think Pansy agreed to help me, Harry? Malfoy is crazy about you, even after the Gala. She's the one who agreed to get me the hair I needed for the Lamentation Liquid. Because she wants to see _her_ best friend happy, too."

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, likely making it stand on end. The whole thing seemed ridiculous and yet, he couldn't find it in him to regret that it'd happened. Ginny was right. If he hadn't been forced to look at himself - _really_ look at his actions and regrets - there's no way he would have admitted his attraction to Malfoy. Not for a while, at any rate.

"I can't believe you did all of that," he said finally, breaking the silence.

"Are you cross with me?"

"How can I be? I mean, sure, on one had you conspired with Parkinson and had her drug me. On the other, you got us out of an engagement that neither of us really wanted and helped me face the truth about how I feel about Malfoy. I'd say we're pretty even."

Ginny arched a brow and smiled. "You know, if you're admitting that you're in love with him and all of that, you can probably start calling him 'Draco'. Just a thought."

Harry felt himself flush. "I never said anything about being _in love_, just... you know... feelings."

"I suppose there's only so much you can accept at once," she said with a roll of her eyes. A moment later she stood. "I'm going to get going. I have to meet Mum for tea."

"You're not going to tell her? I mean, shouldn't we do that together?"

"I know my mother. Trust me, it's better if it comes from me." Her expression softened as she caught sight of Harry's worry. "Don't worry. She won't blame you, Harry. Once she gets over her disappointment, she'll see it's for the best."

Harry nodded, hoping she was right. Molly had really wanted them to get married. "Let me know how it goes."

"I will," Ginny promised, leaning down to place a chaste kiss to his forehead. "See you, Harry."

"See you."

As Harry watched her walk out the door, a weight lifted from his chest. He was free.

* * *

><p>Draco approached Harry's room just as Weasley stepped out. He tensed when she moved closer, expecting a confrontation. What he got instead, was a smile.<p>

"He's all yours."

Draco blinked in surprise. "Sorry?"

"You heard me. Do try not to hurt him. I'd hate to have to kill you after putting in all this work."

The smile on Weasley's face had turned fierce and Draco found himself swallowing in trepidation. Who would have known a Weasley could be so intimidating? Before he could ask what the hell she was on about, she turned and walked away.

With a shake of his head, Draco gripped the door handle and pushed his way inside, his heart stuttering when he saw Harry sitting up in the bed. He was pale, there were bruises under his eyes and his hair was the absolute messiest Draco had ever seen. He was gorgeous.

"You're awake," Draco said, his voice hitching slightly as he crossed the room to Harry side.

The smile on Harry's face as he turned and saw him standing there had Draco's breath catching in his throat. Harry had never looked at him like that before. Sure, he'd smiled, but there was something different about this one; it was so open and full of happy relief. Like Harry was genuinely glad to see him there.

"Yeah. Only for like twenty minutes or so, but yeah."

Draco allowed himself another moment of simply looking before he forced himself to glower down at Harry. "You stupid bloody idiot. You could have been killed! What the fuck were you thinking, taking a drink from some random wizard?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was drunk," Harry countered, blushing in what Draco hoped was embarrassment.

"Obviously. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong with you, only that you wouldn't wake up."

"You were worried about me?" Harry asked with a shy smile.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Missing the point, Potter. You're bloody lucky it was only Lamentation Liquid."

"Even luckier that Ginny knew how to brew it properly. Potions wasn't exactly her best subject in school."

Well that certainly stole the thunder out of Draco's rant. "Come again?"

Draco listened as Harry filled him in, unable to hide his surprise as he realised the depth of Weasley's involvement. A sense of relief came over him as the last of the puzzle pieces fell into place. No wonder Pansy had been so adamant that Weasley didn't love Harry. "That sneaky little witch. I never would have thought she had it in her."

"You'd be surprised. She can be damn right Slytherin at times," Harry said fondly. His expression grew hesitant a moment later and he regarded Draco with a searching look. "We... uh... we broke up, you know."

Draco schooled his face into a careful mask as his heart skipped a beat. "I figured, considering everything that happened."

"Right."

A long silence followed and Draco barely controlled the urge to roll his eyes as Harry fidgeted awkwardly.

"Was there more to that or did you simply want someone to congratulate you? Maybe throw you a celebration?"

The whithering look Harry shot him brought a smile to Draco's face. Now here was familiar territory.

"No, really, I think you should have a party. You should invite everyone, the entire department. Hell, maybe you can even weasel - no pun intended - some presents out of it. Though you should know I absolutely refuse to get you another gift. You may fight Weasley for the top-of-the-line self-chopping knife set I got you for your engagement."

"You are such a fucking prat," he replied with a grin.

Before Draco could object to the blatantly uncalled for name-calling, Harry reached out and pulled him forward to smash his dry lips against Draco's. It was hard and awkward and not nearly enough to satisfy him. It was one of the best kisses of Draco's life. Not that he was about to tell that to Harry. As they parted, Draco gave him his best unimpressed look.

"What was that?"

"A kiss," Harry answered with a nervous little frown.

"_That _was not a kiss, Potter."

Draco stepped forward and brought his hand up to cup Harry's jaw, a tiny thrill running through him at the way Harry's eyes widened as Draco closed the distance between them. It started out soft and exploratory as Draco eased them in, their lips moving together hesitantly, as if any sudden movement could make it all disappear. A small, helpless whimper rose in Harry's throat and just like that, the kiss turned fierce. Arms rose, winding around Draco's shoulders and pulling him closer as Draco slid his tongue in to dance with Harry's, drawing delicious moans and shudders from him. It seemed an eternity before Draco managed to regain his composure enough to pull away.

"_That_," he said, his voice shaky and deep with want, "was a kiss."

"Wow," Harry breathed, his eyes shuttered and unfocused.

"I'll say."

Draco started and turned to find Harry's healer smiling in the doorway. "I see you decided to try it the fairy tale way after all." She bustled into the room without bothering to wait for a reply, removed her wand and promptly began casting spells. "Welcome back to the land of the waking, Mr Potter."

"Uh, thanks," Harry mumbled as he blushed and fidgeted, clearly embarrassed at having been caught snogging Draco like a horny teenager. The thought made Draco smirk.

"Well, you seem to be in top shape, Mr Potter," the healer mused as she looked over the results of her latest spells. "I'm still not happy not knowing what caused this in the first place, but we can hardly keep you here when you're showing no signs of damage. So long as you promise to come back if anything comes up, you're free to go."

"Brilliant. Thank you," Harry replied, already throwing the hospital sheets off of himself. Draco turned to allow him privacy while he changed.

"You know, despite how frustrating it was being trapped in my own mind, I'm kind of glad it happened."

"Oh?" Draco peeked over his shoulder just in time to watch Harry's arse wriggle its way into denim. He stared shamelessly for a moment and looked away before Harry could catch him.

"Yeah. It made me realise a few things."

A hand on his shoulder had Draco turning back around. "Like what?"

"First of all, I was a complete arse to you. Especially when it came to Ginny," Harry began, his eyes wide and sincere. "I never should have said the things that I did. You're so much more to me than just another co-worker."

"Am I?"

"You know you are. I only got so defensive about her because you were right. We were only getting married because it was expected. I wanted to please everyone else."

"And now you don't?"

"No," Harry answered, wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling him closer. His touch was light and tentative, as if he expected Draco to push him away at any second. Not likely. "This time, I want to try pleasing myself."

Draco smirked. "Why Potter, I had no idea you were such a deviant."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"The Weasleys won't like it," Draco pointed out as he leaned into Harry's touch. "Hell, most of the wizarding world won't like it. They seem pretty set on you marrying your ginger sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, they'll get over it. I want to be with the person that I love."

Draco froze in disbelief. He'd more or less known where Harry was going with his little speech, but he hadn't expected him to say _that_. "What was that?"

"That's the other thing that the potion helped me see. I'm in love with you. Have been for a while, actually," Harry blushed, but didn't look away. "Apparently I was too blind to see it on my own."

"That's..." Brilliant. Perfect. Everything he'd wanted for longer than he cared to admit. Draco tried to say something, anything to that effect, but the words wouldn't come. So instead, he stood there and simply stared.

Harry's smile faded and his eyes widened the longer Draco failed to speak. He pulled back with a curse, his face flushing bright red. "Oh. Wow, fuck, was that too soon? That was too soon, wasn't it? I shouldn't have... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fuck this up already."

The panic in Harry's voice finally snapped Draco out of his shock. Reaching out, he took Harry's hands and tugged him close again, demanding his attention and silence. "Harry, calm down. Relax. You didn't fuck anything up. You just caught me by surprise, that's all."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, you knob. Maybe it is a bit early to be making declarations of love and the like, but you're not the only one who feels that way."

Harry's face lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Draco said, allowing himself to be pulled into another kiss. He pulled back with a smirk. "But I'm still not buying you a present."

* * *

><p>Edgar watched with a fair amount of pride as Harry Potter downed his latest pint in less than thirty seconds, slamming it on the the bar with a resounding <em>thunk<em>.

"Tol' you I could do it, Finnigan. 'Ve still got my touch," he let announced proudly, letting out a ridiculously loud belch. "Alrigh' so, whose buying the next round?"

A tall ginger called out an affirmative, but Edgar put on his sternest face and shook his head. "'M afraid ye're finished fer th' night, Mr Potter."

Potter's face fell into an almighty pout as the rest of his party protested. "You're no' serious?"

"'M afraid I am," Edgar replied, trying not to let his amusement show.

"It's his bloody stag, mate! He's allowed to get pissed!" called one of Potter's friends - one of the few without ginger hair.

"Yeah, well ye'll no' be dealin' with th' consequences should Mr Malfoy hear about it, will ye?"

Potter leaned forward, his eyes widening almost comically as he tried his best to charm Edgar into giving him another drink. "Aw, c'mon. What my finance doesn' know won' hurt 'im."

It was hard not to give in. A year had passed since Potter had come back into his pub to thank him for his swift action the night he'd been drugged and since then, Malfoy and he had become regulars. They often came to the pub after work on a Friday evening and chatted happily over lager and wine. Edgar had even started stocking a fancy red wine just for Malfoy, though he never failed to sigh and fuss when he was made to serve it. He'd watched their relationship grow from tentative to stable to damn near unbreakable - had served them through the good times and bad - and now they were getting married. It made Edgar feel almost like a proud uncle. Which meant that he wasn't going to let himself give in to Potter's crup-puppy eyes.

"Sorry, Harry. Ye know I'm fond o' ye, but 'm more afraid of yer partner an' he gave me strict orders no' t' let ye drink too much. Ye may have water or coffee."

Harry's pout returned as he slumped on his stool with a sigh. "Yeah, alright, fine. Draco never lets me 'ave fun."

Edgar arched a brow, wary as Harry's pout melted into a wicked grin.

"Well, not _never_. Sometimes he's _very_ fun. Like las' night when he put his wand up my..."

"Okay, tha's quite enough o' that! I think it's home time for ye, ye've a big day t'morrow. Come on, lads," Edgar called, waving at the chattering group of blokes swaying a few feet away. "This one's fer bed."

A sigh of relief escaped him as two blokes moved to either side of Harry and helped him stand, effectively stopping his attempt at over-sharing. The last thing Edgar needed to know was what the boys got up to in their private time.

"You're th' best, Edgar. No, really, I love you," Harry said with a smile.

Edgar rolled his eyes, unable to help the answering smile that spread across his face as he flapped his rag at Harry. "Get out of here, ye eejit," he said fondly as the lads made their way unsteadily to the fireplace. "And make sure ye get 'im t' the church _on time_!"

_fin_

**A/N2: Have I mentioned that I bloody well HATE the things you have to do to post on ? I'm considering stopping altogether. If you like, you can find me on AO3. It's laid out much better and is so much simpler to use.**


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